Listening
by The Manwell
Summary: Heero breaks his own personal oath of pacifism to go to the aid of a fellow Preventer agent. Inspired by Sunhawk's "Fic for a Pic" contest. Language, POV, shounen ai. (Complete)


**Notes:** This is a little something I thought up upon learning about a fanfic contest Sunhawk was instigating. I didn't finish the fic in time, but I pulled it out and re-read what I had and thought, "What the hell..." and wrapped it up. This is, by far, the shortest fictional work I have ever written. Go me.

...ooo...

**Listening** by The Manwell

A Gundam Wing Fan Fiction

Inspired by Sunhawk's 2004 Contest (See my Bio page for the link to this plethora of fiction)

...ooo...

_Agent down._

I can count on one hand the possible situations that have the power to drag me away from my self-sustaining office space. I can label each of them succinctly and immediately. I can try to describe the power of those few contingencies which forces me back through time until I am no longer a Preventer Intel Specialist – a geek with a sexy microprocessor at my fingertips. I can attempt to resist the pull of it as I am dragged back into a mindset where I am once again a deadly weapon of unparalleled efficiency. But to resist would be pointless.

_Agent down._

I'd sworn that I would never pick up a loaded gun or any other deadly weapon again. I had promised myself that I would no longer risk my sanity or my soul. I would never – could never – be a soldier, an assassin, a warrior again. Whatever had existed within me during my formative years that had sustained such determined apathy had disappeared. The terrorist I had become had fed on that strength until all that had been left had been a sixteen-year-old kid who had fired an empty gun at a child and then promptly passed out. In that moment I had realized I would never be able to pick up a gun again – for to do so would mean that I would not hesitate to use it with deadly intent. And I had not felt deadly intent in years.

_Agent down._

And now, upon hearing those two words, I have made a liar of myself. Quickly, decisively, I chamber the bullet. The time for hesitation has passed. If I ever want to be able to taste the essence of life again, I must do this. Really, I have no choice. But, had I been given one, I wouldn't have preferred another option.

"Are you ready?" I ask my partner over my shoulder. I don't look at him. I don't have to. We've known each other for so long that I can take the minute sounds of movement behind me and easily translate them into his corresponding motions.

"I thought you'd never ask, pal."

I snort softly, blowing air out in a usual expression of mild exasperation. I reach for the latch on the trailer door and just before I hoist the well oiled panel upward, I reply with a barb of my own, "Ladies first."

The whisper of the door sliding up along the tracks covers the sensation of his glare. I know he'll get me back for that. But not now.

We descend from the back of the semi's trailer and soundlessly traverse the cluttered cargo bay. We had chosen our method of entrance carefully. By applying various construction roadblocks along the routes to this facility, we had ensured that the cargo personnel would be overwhelmed by an influx of their regular shipments arriving within hours of each other. And there were a lot of trucks and crates in the cavernous space. It had been far too much for the meager staff to unload and sort in a day, thus our hiding spot had remained undiscovered and our path into the facility nicely augmented by an overabundance of cover.

This is not, we know, the only way into the facility. It is, however, the only way which matches to the fragment of the compound's blueprints we'd received before the agent inside had been compromised. We can only hope those blueprints are legitimate. And that the path we will take for this rescue attempt will not be anticipated by our adversaries.

My partner slides up next to me as we reach the wall that separates us from the sweeping searchlights and looped razor wire sitting like the proverbial maraschino cherry atop smooth, multi-storied concrete walls and chain link fence.

I can feel his gaze return to me after sweeping the area around us for obstacles. He wonders if I can do this.

I wonder, too.

"You do still remember how to do stealthwork?" he queries, almost in jest.

As if I could ever forget. And I'd tried to. Many times. I nod once, curtly. And, somehow, I think I'd managed to communicate my thoughts perfectly without a word.

We locate one of the service doors. As we move into position, bracketing it, we know this is it. Once we've made it out of the cargo bay we are committed. Neither of us hesitates.

Once again, my existence becomes measured by my heartbeat which I automatically regulate. We slide through the shadows, careful not to hurry, careful not to remain too still in the night breeze.

"You know, if it weren't for the lack of a homicidal glint in your eyes, I'd say you were having a little fun, Yuy."

I resist the urge to look over my shoulder at him. I don't even bother to tell him to be quiet. I am aware that it would be an exercise in futility. I remain hunched in my puddle of shadow until his voice echoes what I sense to be true:

"It's clear."

I soundlessly glide around the corner and make contact with another wall. I follow the weatherworn bricks until I reach the slight protrusion of a chimney. Here, in the darkest shadows on the compound, I am sheltered from the sweeping white lights. I quickly remove the climbing gear from among the pouches along my utility belt and slide the blackened steel over my hands and shoes. The entire operation takes me five heartbeats and then I'm going up the side of the building. I know I have to be quick, silent, and fluid. My partner is waiting.

After a moment, I sense him behind me as we both climb the necessary distance. My muscles are screaming at me when I manage to pull myself up onto the ledge. It embarrasses me that Duo seems to manage the same task quite easily. I can feel his gaze on me. He's torn between laughter and concern.

We don't have time for either.

Instead, he says, "Let's move out."

So we do.

We scuttle on a whisper of boot tread along the ledge. Unconsciously, we time our movements to the bobbing of the spotlight. Its brilliant, solitary ray conducts the night around us and I imagine the man behind the beam considers himself quite the maestro. On another night, on another location, I might have paused to appreciate the symphony of silence. But not tonight and certainly not here on an outcropping of brick that can barely qualify as a ledge.

Beside me, Duo approaches the corner of the building and sinks soundlessly to his knees. His chest brushing against the brick façade, he braces himself with his left hand against the wall. Beside him, I hold my position. With my back steadying the structure behind me, I keep watch on the compound. The timing is critical. The lights absolutely _cannot_ touch us.

Duo leans closer to the edge of the building and I find myself with a hand flattened next to his. I don't have to look to know I'm almost touching him. I can feel the heat from each of his callused fingertips radiating against the tender skin that joins each of my own digits to my palm.

A pale ghost – an incidental backwash – illuminates the brick to my right and delivers a momentary almost-shadow of a chain-link fence. Beside Duo, I wait for him to count the guards, note their positions, wait for them to move out of our line of sight, and give me the signal.

In the meantime, I savor the heat of his fingers, almost interlaced with my own. I barely have the taste of it on my tongue before he shifts back into the relative shadows with me and nods.

And now I must leave him behind. I don't want to do it, but only one of us can climb the unremarkable wall to the next level. Again, I don't hesitate. I know Duo will be here to guide me back down when I have retrieved the agent.

The window is only ten feet above me, but it seems much further. My muscles howl as I make the climb in my minimalist gear. I briefly wonder what sort of shape this agent will be in but I divert that thought with the knowledge of the thin ropes carefully bundled in my utility belt. As long as I can tie him to me, I can easily repel back down to the ground. And Duo will be there. I must remember that.

At the window, I pause. I have to. I check for an alarm and smirk when I discover none. Of course, only a suicidal computer geek with buns of steel would try to come in a window four stories up from a concrete courtyard.

I work fast and then I'm in. I don't bother with the lights; I can see well enough in the dark by now to identify my target. As I'd expected, he is unconscious. I open my packs and begin the arduous task of tying us together. For his sake, I hope he doesn't wake up until I've gotten him back to the HQ infirmary. And for both our sakes, I hope my worn-out soldier's body will make it that far.

But then I think of Duo and I know I have no other choice.

...ooo...

I look up as Une re-emerges from the private hospital room. I'm exhausted, but that doesn't mean I'm my usual hard-ass self. It means I'm worse. When I get tired, I get pushy and Une knows this.

I stand as she clicks her way over to me in a pair of black, leather heels. She's taller than me, even without the shoes, and that furthers my irritation.

"Yuy, the last time I checked, you were assigned to Intel."

I don't say anything. I don't particularly care if she fires me or suspends me or wants to sponsor a fucking May pole in my honor. I just want this conversation done.

"I was not aware that Intel agents were assigned fieldwork."

I exhale my wordless response.

"Nor was I aware of that fieldwork including rescue operations."

I don't bother to stop staring that closed door behind her. I want in that room. And I want in there very, very badly.

"But Intel _must_ have authorized something because there wasn't a prelim op request on my desk as of eighteen hundred hours this evening."

How long does she need to chew me out, anyway? I almost glance at my watch.

"And I'll obviously have to have a little chat with the head of Intel for authorizing not only an operation outside of his department's scope but for also allowing you to go about it _solo_."

Finally losing what little patience I have, I glance at her and snap, "There's no point in waking him up right now because you know as well as I do he's not going to know shit about this."

She arcs a brow. She does not ask me why I decided to undertake an unauthorized mission. She does not ask me to estimate what sort of consequences my actions will have. She doesn't ask me anything at all. Instead, she says, "First, last, and only time, Yuy."

And I almost grin at her decision to look the other way on this.

She nods toward the door. "Now get your ass in there. He should be coming around soon."

I don't need to be told twice. I barrel through the door and absently push it shut behind me. I don't look over my shoulder to watch it close. I can hear it well enough. My attention is riveted to the figure in the bed. My heart beats faster. My palms become moist and clammy. I wander over to the chair at his bedside on shaky legs and perch on the edge of it.

And now that I'm here. Where the hell do I start? How do I tell this man what he means to me? How do I convey my willingness to risk breaking my own personal oath and shredding my own sanity to save him?

I'm... not sure. But I have to start somewhere.

I clear my throat. The sound bounces off of the sterile walls. I never thought finding words could be this hard.

I take a deep breath.

First things first. I have to get his attention; I have to say his name.

"Duo?" I ask quietly and I'm startled by the hesitance in my voice. "Can you hear me?"

I receive no reply. That, in and of itself, is disconcerting. Duo has _always_ supplied a reply. Even in my imagination.

"I hope you're listening to me," I continue, my voice steadying. I reach for his hand and deliberately interlace our fingers. If he can feel this then I know he'll understand what I'm trying to tell him. "I hope you're listening because..."

I pause long enough to rub the pad of my thumb against his pale skin in a soft caress. I continue, "Because... I'm ready to talk to you now."

There is so much to say. So much I feel. So much I need.

I don't think I imagine the slight tightening of fingers around mine and it gives me the encouragement to speak. So I take another deep breath, open my mouth, and begin.

The End...

... or is it the beginning?


End file.
